Dear Bio-Dad…You are Forgiven

Dear Biological Father of Mine,

Well, first of all, forgive me for making you sound as though you are some sort of hazardous material or a recycled fuel! But I always call you Bio-Dad. With three to talk about I had to give all of you nicknames and that one’s yours. But I’m pretty sure you would find humor in that – yes, I think it would make you laugh.

I will choke on tears and a tightened throat as I type this, for these words are so hard to write. I guess it’s the not knowing, whether you are dead or alive, suffering somewhere alone and feeling hopeless and helpless, or in a place of peace, at last. I will always wonder what has happened to you. I’ve scoured certain websites, looking, sometimes shaking, to see if “that’s you.”

No matter where you are, living or not living, I want you to know that I forgive you. I feel no resentment or hatred.

I understand why you gave up your rights to me, so that I could have the surgery I so desperately needed – it was a very selfless act. I know, you couldn’t even come close to helping then, so you did the right thing, but oh, how hard it must have been for you to do it. For that, my heart bleeds. I’m so sorry it worked out that way, for both of us.

About the stories – the abuse, the drugs, the drinking, the random acts of violence – I’ve heard about them from Mom, and a few others.  But the things that you did, I understand. I know they came from a deep pit of hurt that you didn’t know how to deal with very well.

Biology speaks. I’m sensitive, too and that has created a lot of ruckus for me over the years. I’ve done things of which I’m not proud, yes, it’s true, and I know that if I could talk to you, I would be given your understanding and compassion. I know this from a place that has no name. I will just call it awareness.

I’m sorry that so many in your life saw you as bad – shunned you without taking the time to understand why you did certain things.  But I do, yes I DO understand. Your childhood was disastrous, hey, just like mine!

It would have been nice if Grandma and Grandpa could have acknowledged their role in your problems!  But I’m not so sure they had peaceful childhoods either, and so I have to forgive them also. Maybe that had no idea that they were letting you down. Even if they did, I try to remember that for many it is so much easier to run from a problem, rather than take it on, tackle it, own it, and fix it.

Please know, no matter what anyone else thinks, I don’t think you’re bad; I really want you to believe that this is the truth. I know what it feels like when people watch you create an “event” or a “scene” – label it horrendous, and then go on to judge you as a freak, a sinner, a crazed-nasty person, unworthy of life or love. Blind eye. They don’t see the pain that caused the actions. They see what they want to see. It is convenient.

If I could give you one gift, it would be that knowledge. It’s not your fault! You just have to do your best to accept this blindness, forgive people for what they don’t understand, forgive YOURSELF, work on fixing your own problems and go on to help others. If you are alive somewhere, I hope you’ve found a way to do this.

Sometimes when I think of you, I cry, feel sad, and can’t stop wondering. But the one thing that always puts a smile on my face is the snowball. Do you remember? You, living in Arizona at the time, called me late one evening, to say that it had snowed and that it didn’t do that very often where you lived, so you ran outside and quickly made a snowball and stuck it in your freezer. I remember you said you would save it for me, just to prove that it snowed! I’m sure the snowball is long gone, but the memory will always feed me my heart.

I hope these words make it to you, somehow.  I love you and always will. You made me, how could I not? And I know, just know, that you love me, too.

Love and warm thoughts always,

Your daughter

Things I Learned From Living in a Homeless Shelter. No. 2

In 2007, I spent several months living in a homeless shelter. It was one of my greatest experiences. One that I wouldn’t trade for anything. It was a gift actually. I had so much to learn and the universe didn’t let me down. It gave me the gift of “rock bottom.” Some of the knowledge I now possess, could not have been learned in any other way. I wasn’t unhappy in the shelter, I turned it into an adventure, and kept a great sense of humor. That is why you’ll find that some of my examples are rather humorous. Others though, are very serious.

Homeless Shelter Learns, No. 2:

I learned to be more compassionate – by fifty-fold. Yes, I suppose it was that significant. Well, I saw some serious heartache. Could you ever guess that some people are so lonely and hurting so badly that they sleep with detergent bottles for comfort, holding them near and dear like a baby? Probably not.

Shock, right? Who would think of this until they have seen it?

I used to watch her, as she slept, and wonder what it was, EXACTLY that made her hurt so much. It puzzled me and it made me want to cry. She was such a pretty woman, and I could see that inside she was beautiful, too, and yes, I could also see the internal battles raging, though I had no idea what started the war. I wanted to reach out, to ask a million questions, to give her a hug, but I knew better. She just had that look, “Stay away!” I respected the look, but I tried anyway to at least make eye contact, to offer a smile. A couple of times she did smile at me, a quick jerky smile with another look that said, “You look like a nice person, but I’m sorry, I’ve just been through too much and I can’t bring myself to trust you.” I understood. Somehow, I did.

What bothered me the most was to see her ridiculed. Yes, it’s hard to believe, but many shunned her, picked away at her mind, laughed behind her back, instead of trying to understand that she must have been in terrible pain. That made me want to scream. Oh yes, it did. I wanted to yell at those people and tell them to have some compassion, but I didn’t. I knew better than to do that, too. If you dared to raise your voice, you’d find yourself in some SERIOUS trouble. In fact, you could get kicked out of the shelter for acting out in any way. So, I just held it in, and I suppose the holding in was one of the main reasons why I had such a hard time dealing with anger when I finally left the shelter. I had no frustration tolerance. Well, I can’t blame me, really. It was hard to watch the pain.

Stay tuned for No. 3…


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